


Now is the time for change

by Sermocinare



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blessed with suck, Gen, Mutant Politics, Mutant Powers, Mutants, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sermocinare/pseuds/Sermocinare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few decades after the appearance of the first humans with strange and varied powers, a second generation of mutants is fighting for mutant rights while trying to lead normal lives. Or rather, as normal as possible, given the circumstances...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Watch this space for individual chapter notes and tags!

„And now they're pushing for registration. What's next? Making us wear bells so that people know we're coming?“

Enjolras huffs angrily and gives the table a little shove. 

„Hey, some of us have drinks on here,“ Courfeyrac says, but he doesn't sound genuinely annoyed. „They're afraid, Enjolras. Mind you, that doesn't make it right, and I don't agree with them.“

„I know they're afraid, but their fear is based on prejudice. They think every single one of us is dangerous and just waiting for a chance to screw the so-called normal humans over. But if you look at the crime statistics, it's pretty clear that the ones who most often harm usuals are other usuals.“

Courfeyrac winces, then takes a deep breath. „Come on. Let's pick Combeferre up from his shift.“

„Sorry,“ Enjolras says, putting a hand on Courfeyrac's arm.

„It's all right.“ Courfeyrac gives him a somewhat pained grin. „It's not that I'm not used to your outbursts. If it really were that bad, I wouldn't hang out with you. I'm just exhausted today.“

Enjolras puts a hand on the back of his friend's neck and gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. „You've got to take care of yourself, Courfeyrac. Regardless of what they might say about us, none of us is superhuman. Not even you.“

Courfeyrac sighs, then gets up to pay for his tab, Enjolras in tow. 

„Did anything happen today to cause you such exhaustion?“ 

Courfeyrac shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, head down, not looking at the people they pass. 

„Hm. Yes.“ Courfeyrac frowns, hunches his shoulders even more. „We had a lecture about domestic abuse law today. And of course the professor forgot to tell me beforehand. Again. You can imagine what happened. I tried to block it out, but fifteen minutes in, and I'm pretty much running out of the room because otherwise I'd have been curled up underneath the table screaming.“

„Shit, Courfeyrac. Why didn't you leave right away?“ Enjolras isn't reproachful, just concerned, and that is almost worse. Almost. 

Courfeyrac sets his jaw, brows knitting in anger: „Because maybe I wanted to at least pretend that I'm like everyone else.“ He gives a short, humorless laugh: „They call them abilities, but really, at the moment it feels more like a disability to me.“

Enjolras puts an arm around Coufeyrac's shoulders, and Courfeyrac immediately leans into him. 

„We don't have to go pick up Combeferre. We can go straight home. I don't think a hospital is the place you should be right now.“

They are turning heads now, but Enjolras is used to that, and Courfeyrac doesn't care. The emotions aren't loud, static, but instead pass like leaves on the wind. And at least Enjolras' presence makes them a bit more uniform. 

„No,“ Courfeyrac mutters, „I want to. I'll just stay outside. But I really need you and 'ferre around right now.“

„All right, then.“

Enjolras doesn't let go of Courfeyrac for the rest of the ten-minute walk over to St. Mary's. The glowing sign of the hospital is already in sight when Courfeyrac suddenly stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide. 

„Whoa.“ Enjolras stops, too, but his arm slides off Courfeyrac's shoulders. „Is something wrong? Someone flooding you with something?“

Coufeyrac blinks, then shakes his head as if waking up from a dream. „No. Actually... it felt like, well, the other way around? As if I just stepped through a patch of complete darkness.“ He turns to face Enjolras, his expression still one of utter confusion. „There was nothing, Enjolras. For a few seconds. Absolutely nothing.“

„Strange.“ Enjolras looks around, but the people have already moved on, individuals flowing back into the crowd. He shrugs: „Maybe it was just a fluke. It does happen, after all.“

„Never to me. Not until now.“ Courfeyrac makes an attempt at a grin: „Maybe I should have Combeferre give me a brain scan.“

Enjolras chuckles: „Oh, he would just love that. More pictures of our mutated brains.“

Courfeyrac patiently waits outside, lingering around the edge of the driveway, far enough from it that he doesn't get too much from the people in the ambulances. It doesn't take long until Enjolras and Combeferre step out of the main entrance, and Courfeyrac heaves a sigh of relief. He can feel the calmness washing over him like cold water running over sunburned skin, and his tensed-up muscles relax a bit. 

Combeferre steps over to Courfeyrac, wrapping him into a protective hug: „Enjolras told me you had a rough day?“ 

Courfeyrac nods: „Mhm.“ Then, he raises an eyebrow: „Same as you.“

Combeferre gives a shrug, then lets go of Courfeyrac to run a hand through his hair, smoothing it back. 

„You know how it is. Some days just get you.“

Courfeyrac and Enjolras both nod, and they start off in the direction of Valjean's house, walking in a comfortable silence, Enjolras and Combeferre walking on Courfeyrac's side like a protective detail.

Once they have arrived in the relative quiet of the mansion, they all linger around in the hallway as if by unspoken agreement. There is a moment of silence, then Enjolras cocks his head to the side, eyeing first Courfeyrac, then Combeferre.

„So, what do you guys want to do? Rest and recuperate alone, or shall we sit down for a movie?”

Courfeyrac shrugs: “Not sure. What do you want to do?”

Enjolras gives him a look: “The point of this is that you two get to do whatever you want, and not what I want. So, what do you want to do?”

“I vote for watching a movie,” Combeferre says. “Something funny. I know I could use some laughs, and Coufeyrac looks like he could really do with some synchronized happiness, too.”

Courfeyrac nods. 

“Movie it is, then,” Enjolras says, and heads towards the kitchen. “You two stash away your things, and I'll make us some popcorn. Is Cosette home?”

Courfeyrac shakes his head: “Doesn't feel like it.” Still, he looks up toward the end of the staircase that leads to the first floor and calls out: “Cosette? You home?”

No answer. 

“Well, I guess it's guys' night, then,” Combeferre says and starts up the stairs. Courfeyrac follows, glad to finally be in the silence of the house. The day really has been extraordinarily stressful. Maybe Enjolras was right, and it's been enough to throw his abilities off for a second. 

–

“Could you come over here for a minute?” 

There's a note of something bordering on panic in the nurse's voice, and Combeferre hurries towards her. 

“I told you, I'm fine! So would you just let me go? And for god's sake don't touch me!” 

The man sitting on the gurney doesn't look fine. Actually, he looks like hell. He is shaking, his skin pale and clammy except for the red splotches that spell high fever. For a moment, Combeferre wonders how he even manages to sit upright. 

Stepping next to the man, Combeferre looks from the man to the nurse and back: “What is going on here?”

Both the nurse and the stranger calm down immediately, and the nurse – her name, Combeferre now remembers, is Girard – gives him a frown: “He refuses to stay, and he won't even let me take his pulse or his temperature.”

“And I have told her the same thing I already told the EMTs and now you: I am fine. It's just the flu, it will be over in a few hours.”

“You collapsed in the middle of the street!” Nurse Girard turns towards Combeferre: “At least that is what the EMTs told me.”

The stranger rubs the bridge of his nose, obviously still a bit exasperated. At least he's no longer angry. “Yes, I collapsed. But it's nothing. Really.”

“Sir,” Combeferre says in a calm, diplomatic voice, “just collapsing like that isn't nothing, and if it is the flu, you will need more than a few hours to recover. At least let us check you through.” 

He reaches out to take the man's wrist, but the stranger flinches back: “Please don't touch me.”

For a few seconds, everyone seems frozen in time, not knowing what to do now. Then the stranger sighs. 

“I know that for a normal person, this would be quite worrying indeed. But I'm not a normal person. If you catch my drift?”

Combeferre does, immediately. 

“I think you can go now,” he tells the nurse, giving her a short nod. For a moment, it looks like she might refuse, her lips pressed together and a frown line appearing on her brow, but then she leaves.

Combeferre pulls the curtain around the gurney closed, even if it creates more of an illusion of privacy than any real seclusion. Then, he leans against the gurney, giving the man a sympathetic smile: “So, what is it, Monsieur...?”

“Joly.” 

Combeferre nods. Then, he cocks his head to the side: “Healing factor?”

Joly smirks: “I hardly would have collapsed if it were a healing factor. But well, it is part of the package.” 

Combeferre notices that Joly is already starting to look a bit better. He's still pale and shaking, but the feverish splotches are going away.

“And the full package?”

“I can cure disease by merely touching people.” Joly gives a chuckle: “Which would probably make me really popular around these parts. And don't get me wrong, I would love to help everyone. But,” he says with a frown, “this one comes with a price tag attached. Every now and then, I actually catch the disease I'm curing. You've seen the results. I guess it's understandable that I am a bit reluctant to play World Health Organization.”

Combeferre nods. He looks around, taking in their surroundings, then looks back at Joly with a short smirk: “And I understand that you want to get out of this place as soon as possible, too. Still,” Combeferre sighs, runs a hand through his hair, “stay a little longer? You still look like hell.”

“Is that your medical opinion?” Joly chuckles. 

Combeferre laughs, then grins at Joly: “Oh, absolutely. Also,” he digs around in his breast pocket and pulls out a notepad and a pencil, scribbling out his name and a few numbers before ripping out the page and handing it to Joly, “here. If you ever run into trouble like today again, tell them I'm your doctor and give me a call. I'll see what I can do.”

Joly takes the folded piece of paper and stuffs it into his wallet, then pulls out a small business card and hands it over to Combeferre.

“A microbiologist, huh?” Combeferre says, raising an eyebrow at Joly.

Joly shrugs and grins: “Well, I can't catch the little bastards from petri dishes, and I might as well put myself to work on wiping out the worst of them from the face of this earth.” His smile falters a bit, and he looks off to the side. “Maybe then I'll be able to touch people without having to scope out their health status first.” Joly gives a sigh and pulls on a pair of thin leather gloves. 

At this, Combeferre, who was just about to turn around and leave, stops and regards Joly with a curious expression. “Say, if you wear these gloves – and am I right in thinking that you always do when you're going out – how did you catch the flu?”

Joly gives him a timid, almost embarrassed smile: “I'm not keen on playing WHO, but my heart isn't made of stone, either. There was this girl, I guess she must have been around 12, who was walking down the street looking like death and almost coughing up her lungs. Just like that, on her own, no adult around or anything.” He gives Combeferre the tiniest of shrugs: “I couldn't walk by and do nothing. Sometimes, you have to take a risk.”

–

“It happened again.” 

“What happened again?” Enjolras, who is lying sprawled out on the couch with his head propped up against Combeferre's leg, lowers the book he is reading and raises an eyebrow in questioning. 

“You remember when we were going to pick up Combeferre from the hospital a few days ago, and there was this sudden... well, nothing?” Courfeyrac waves his hand around in a vague gesture. 

Enjolras nods, but now Combeferre's interest is piqued. “Sudden nothing? You didn't tell me about that.”

“Well,” Courfeyrac says, exchanging a look with Enjolras and giving Combeferre a sheepish grin, “I didn't want you to get... well... upset.”

“He didn't want you to drag him into your MRT,” Enjolras provides helpfully, making Courfeyrac blush and shoot him an angry look. 

Combeferre sighs and shakes his head at his friends: “Seriously, you guys, how am I supposed to ever finish my paper if even my friends undermine me? It's hard enough to find others who are willing to participate.”

“And with good reason,” Enjolras grumbles. “Seeing what kinds of things were done in the name of science before people realized that the right to bodily integrity encompasses metas, too.”

Combeferre frowns, keeping his focus on Courfeyrac: “Which is exactly why we need to start doing our own research. This way, we can dig into the questions that are relevant to our community.”

“I know,” Enjolras says, his tone placating. He reaches up to take Combeferre's hand, giving it a short squeeze.

“Anyway, you're saying that this happened twice in one week?” Combeferre says, coming back on topic. “Was there anything special about the circumstances? Were you being overwhelmed again?”

Courfeyrac shakes his head: “No. I was just hanging out with a few people, making light conversation and joking around. You know, keeping things in the comfort zone. Anyway, suddenly, I get two seconds of absolutely nothing. As if someone has thrown up a force field around me that keeps other people's emotions out.”

“How did you feel about that?”

Combeferre's question throws Courfeyrac off for a moment. This really wasn't what he had been expecting. “Relieved, I guess. Usually, I don't get any radio silence unless everyone around me is sleeping. And not dreaming. Which is rare enough.” Courfeyrac chuckles, and shakes his head: “Sometimes, I think I really should become a hermit. Or a lighthouse keeper. But I love people too much to not be around them.”

Enjolras and Combeferre both nod. They've talked about that subject before, and so far, Courfeyrac has steadfastly refused to leave the city. 

“But it was also a bit scary,” Courfeyrac continues. “When you're used to feeling other people's emotions, suddenly not feeling them is as if one of my senses were missing. As if I'd gone suddenly blind.” Courfeyrac gives his friends a little half-smile: “I guess you guys wouldn't even notice if something like that happened to you. Passive powers and all that.”

Enjolras shrugs: “If it's only for a few minutes, I probably wouldn't, no. But more? After all, I'm used to people behaving a certain way around me, just like you're used to sensing their emotions. So I'd catch on that something wasn't right.”

“Oh yes. You'd know how it feels like to be us, without people constantly fawning over you,” Combeferre says in a teasing tone. 

Enjolras shifts around and scowls up at his friend: “You just be glad your power isn't down, or I'd punch you. Also, people don't fawn over me.”

Combeferre laughs, and ruffles Enjolras' hair, which causes Enjolras to playfully try to swat his hand away. 

“Yes, they just think you're the most amazing thing since the invention of the grilled cheese sandwich,” Courfeyrac pipes in, chuckling.

“You're an asshole, Courfeyrac,” Enjolras says, but he's grinning, blue eyes sparkling with amusement. 

Courfeyrac beams over at him: “But you still love me. Don't even try to deny it.”

“I wouldn't dare.”

–

“Cosette, are you ready yet?” Courfeyrac hollers up the stairs, impatiently playing around with his car keys. 

“Courfeyrac, stop rushing me!” Cosette's voice is muffled by the still closed bathroom door. “Besides, I would have been ready ten minutes ago if a certain someone hadn't spent god knows how long doing his hair.”

“She's got a point, there,” Combeferre says, raising an eyebrow at Courfeyrac. He's leaning against the bannister, his jacket already slung over his arm, phone in hand, and goes back to tapping the screen. 

Courfeyrac still sticks out his tongue at him. “You should be the one being impatient here. After all, we're already late for picking up your girlfriend.”

“Oh, Adi already knows,” Combeferre says without looking up. “Who do you think I've been texting the last few minutes?”

Finally, Cosette descends the stairs, and Courfeyrac can't help a small, appreciative whistle: “Right. Now I know why you took so long. You look stunning!”

“Flatterer,” Cosette chides, but her smile says that the flattery is quite welcome. 

Courfeyrac grins and gives Cosette his best flirtatious wink: “Oh, it's true. If it weren't for that your dad would throw me not just out of this house but into the next one, I'd be hitting on you right now.”

“Oh, I wouldn't throw you into the next house, I would throw you right over into the next town, Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac turns, still grinning his most charming, boyish grin: “Don't worry, M. Valjean, your daughter is perfectly safe with and from me. I've already got my hands quite full as it is.”

Valjean raises an eyebrow half in amusement, half in warning, and then smiles: “Have fun.” Then, he cocks his head to the side: “Is Enjolras not coming with you?”

“Nope,” Courfeyrac says, shaking his head. “He isn't feeling like it.”

Valjean gives a worried frown, shaking his head: “He should really stop holing himself up like that. He's young. He should have some fun.”

“Well, I can understand why he wouldn't feel like it.” Cosette shrugs. “I mean, Adi is coming along, and we're meeting up with Joelle and Martin. So everyone's either got their partners along or,” here she gives her father a conspiratorial smile, “up for flirting.”

“I'll just pretend I didn't hear that last bit, for my own peace of mind,” Valjean replies. “Still. I worry about him, sometimes.”

Combeferre shrugs: “You know him. He's got his code of ethics, and he won't budge from that. Including the bit about making sure he's not taking advantage of people. At least not in that way.”

“Whatever, I agree with Valjean here. That self-imposed celibacy is taking things a bit far,” Courfeyrac says with a little snort and a shake of his head. “After all, he could meet someone who is, oh, genuinely interested in him.”

Cosette grabs her coat and hooks her arm through Courfeyrac's. “Let him be. And let us be off, before Adrienne decides that we're a bad influence on her boyfriend.” 

“Oh, she's already sure of that,” Combeferre says with a smirk. “After all, she knows you guys.”

Courfeyrac steers Cosette towards the door, but not without a theatrical gasp at Combeferre's words. “Me? A bad influence? I am shocked and appalled, Monsier. Shocked and appalled.”

Vajean shakes his head with a fond smile, watching them go. Seeing them like that, carefree and happy, makes his heart swell with love and ache with pain. They're the second generation, the existence of mutants being normalized enough so that they don't have to hide who they really are all the time, but still not accepted enough for them to feel comfortable with it. 

Valjean glances at the stairs. Up there sits the one who fights the hardest for acceptance and is, at the same time, the one most removed from the society he wants to be a part of. Even though that society loves, admires, almost venerates him. Everyone does, as soon as they look at him. It's what his power, his glamour, does to people, and what keeps him apart from them, because how can anyone be sure that a person really loves them if they have no choice? And so Enjolras shies away from love, pursuing other things instead. 

–

Cosette, on the other hand, is pursuing love. Although at the moment, it looks more as if Courfeyrac is pursuing it for her. 

“Well, what about that one over there? In the gray shirt? He's pretty handsome.” Courfeyrac is currently leaning against Joelle, who is absent-mindedly running her fingers through Courfeyrac's dark locks. They are taking a break from dancing, cooling down on one of the club's huge ugly sofas with drinks and people-watching.

“Hm.” Cosette purses her lips and gives the current object of interest a thoughtful look. Then, she shakes her head. “No. He's nice enough, and he's a good person, but I'm not feeling it.”

“Really, Cosette,” Courfeyrac says with a theatrical sigh, “how do you think you'll ever find the man you want if you don't try a few? After all, it worked for me.” 

He grins at Martin, who shakes his head fondly and gives Courfeyrac a small kiss before weighing in on the discussion: “Courfeyrac's right. Both with that the guy is handsome, and that you shouldn't knock it 'til you try it.”

Cosette takes a sip of her margharita: “I have tried. I can't help that I'm choosy.”

“Then what about that one?” Joelle takes her hand out of Courfeyrac's hair and points at a young man who is currently pushing his way through the crowd that is hanging around the bar.

“He's cute,” Cosette says, and her mouth twitches into a smile. Tall and somewhat lanky, with an open face speckled with a few freckles. Yes, definitely cute. Her eyes narrow a bit, pinning the man with her gaze. Then, she blinks and shakes her head, looking down at her drink. “Huh. Shouldn't have had three of these, I guess.”

Courfeyrac raises an eyebrow, but before he can say anything, Combeferre and Adi drop onto the sofa next to Cosette. Combeferre grins, and pushes his hair out of his slightly damp forehead: “Right. I think I'm done with dancing for tonight.”

“Says the man whom I've caught more than once still sitting in the living room reading a book at 4am,” Courfeyrac says, giving his friend a wink.

Combeferre grabs Courfeyrac's bottle and takes a healthy swig. “Well, reading is a lot less exhausting.”

“Hey, that's mine!” Courfeyrac tries to grab his beer back, but Combeferre has already passed it on to Adi, out of reach of Courfeyrac's arms. 

After taking a few quick sips, Adrienne hands the bottle back to Courfeyrac, then wraps her arm around Combeferre's waist: “Also, you're one to talk, seeing how you gave up half an hour ago.”

“Gotcha,” Cosette grins at Courfeyrac. “Anyway, if none of us is feeling like dancing any more, how about we go somewhere else? Somewhere less noisy?”

“And with less people,” Joelle says, having gone back to scratching Courfeyrac's head as if he were an oversized cat. 

Everyone nods. “Right, let's get going, then. I need some fresh air, too,” Combeferre says, rising from the sofa.


	2. Chapter 2

“Abilities or not, we are human, and as such have basic human rights! Or,” here Enjolras gives a snort, lips contorting into a sneer, “we should have. But instead, we have the Citizens with Special Abilities Act. They should have called it the Paranoia and Racism Act instead.”

Combeferre is standing in the middle of the assembled crowd, watching at times the faces around him, then returning his gaze towards Enjolras. His friend is standing on top of a knee-high brick wall, slightly elevated above the crowd but still part of it. Enjolras is brandishing a copy of the very book the laws he is tearing into are printed in, eyes alight with a righteous fury, and Combeferre is sure that Enjolras would have the crowd mesmerized even without his ability. He seems like an avenging angel come down from the heavens to rain fire on those he considered sinners.

“They are afraid of us, and their fear is apparently more important than our rights. Section 3 states that everyone whose ability can be “considered a threat to public safety” can be detained by the state indefinitely. Which just means that they can throw us in jail without even so much as a trial.” Enjolras lowers his voice: “Each and every one of us. Detained under the pretense of protecting the public. Well, aren't we the public, too?”

There are a few shouts and a general murmur of agreement, even among the fringes of the crowd where the curious and the passers-by are standing. 

“We have rights, and what's more, we have the right, no, the duty to make sure these rights are granted. Oh, they're patting themselves on the back for being progressive and “integrating us into society”, but we know better. We are still segregated, singled out and treated like criminals, and for what? For being born different. They have built a wall around us. Well, we will tear that wall down, and by force if necessary.” 

This gets a few murmurs of agreement, but looking around, Combeferre can see some worried faces, stances shifting uncomfortably. 

“And now, instead of trying to dismantle it, they're building the wall even higher. What is the Registration Act, if not a further tool for discrimination? They want to build a database detailing every one of our names, addresses and abilities, once again in the name of protecting the public. Well, the reality is that they just want to make it easier to harass us and, in the worst case, to round us up and put us away. Sure, they say it won't happen. They say never again, but I for one wouldn't be too sure of that.”

Enjolras falls silent for a few seconds, his jaw working furiously, fist clenched so hard Combeferre can see the white of his knuckles even from where he is standing. 

“They say we're dangerous.” Enjolras' voice is low, but it still carries over the crowd. “I beg to differ. Crime rates among our community are lower than those of the usuals. And every day, members of our community are harassed, attacked and in some cases even killed, and for what? Because they, because we, exist. So I ask you, who are the dangerous ones?”

Combeferre's attention, which had been drawn in by Enjolras' words and presence, is pulled back into the here and now by a hand on his shoulder. 

Bahorel is standing next to him, and as soon as he is sure he has Combeferre's attention, addresses him in a low voice: “Riot police. They'll be here in a minute or two.”

Combeferre nods and then gives Bahorel a small, sardonic smile: “Right on cue. You and the others start to disperse the crowd. I'll tell Enjolras.”

Combeferre pushes through the crowd until he is standing in front of Enjolras and pulles at his friend's sleeve to get his attention: “Enjolras! Riot police. Let's get out of here.”

“Shit,” Enjolras swears, looking over the heads of the crowd to the streets leading into the square. And there they are, moving quickly and with purpose. Enjolras takes a deep breath, his nostrils quivering when he lets it out again. “Let's make sure the crowd gets out of here. Shouldn't be too difficult,” he grins, showing his teeth, “after all, I think I know who they're after.”

“You know,” Combeferre grumbles as Enjolras deftly hops down from the wall, “you're the only person I know who would throw a party if they made it onto the FBI's most wanted list.”

Enjolras, who has begun passing the word that everyone better get out of here, just shrugs: “Well, by doing what we do, we're taking steps to that kind of thing never happening. After all, we're not terrorists. We're just pointing out what's going wrong in this country.”

–

“All we were doing was holding a peaceful protest. It was only when your people moved in that things got violent.”

Enjolras is rubbing his aching elbow and making a mental note that he will have to let Combeferre check that through once he is out of here. Lucky for him, the policeman's baton didn't hit him with full force, or he wouldn't be sitting here. Then again, Enjolras isn't sure if he wouldn't prefer a guarded hospital bed to sitting in a small interrogation chamber with Javert. Of all people. 

Now, Enjolras doesn't have a problem with one of theirs working for, or with, the government. After all, the government per se isn't the problem here. It's certain people and branches of the government, for example those who work for what the public has given the nickname of “talent scouts”. 

“From where I was standing, your peaceful protest looked more like an incitement to riot,” Javert replies in an annoyingly calm tone. “That was some pretty inflammatory rhetoric you were using there.”

Enjolras shrugs, putting on a calm facade. Part of him wishes Combeferre were here, but his friend had cleared out as soon as Enjolras had reminded him that another arrest, even an unfounded one, would look bad on his résumé. Combeferre was using his talent and passion for the good of everyone, and Enjolras would be damned before he would let him throw that away. 

“If you consider the truth to be inflammatory, Inspector...”

At this, Javert gives a quiet sigh and shakes his head: “I do applaud your fervor, and I am sure that you think that you're fighting the good fight, but you're not. You're making an already complicated and unstable situation even worse, and I'm still not sure you actually understand what you are fighting for. Or rather, against.”

“Then please enlighten me.”

Javert stands up, putting the flat of his hand on the table: “We have had this discussion already, M. Enjolras. Quite obviously, it hasn't done any good.”

It's true, they have had this discussion before, at least once. Maybe even more often, if Enjolras factors in that it's quite probable that Javert owns, and uses, a computer with internet access. 

“Can I go now, or do you actually have any grounds on which to hold me any longer?” Enjolras says, throwing Javert a dark look. He's pretty sure that the answer will be no on the last one. He does study law, even though he will never be able to use his degree, what with him having what is deemed an unfair advantage, and he knows that Javert's threat of pinning him with possible incitement of a riot was an empty one.

“You're free to go,” Javert says, holding the door and then following him out into the main room of the station. 

There, Enjolras is greeted by Valjean and Cosette, the latter looking decidedly uneasy. Enjolras is a bit surprised that she came along at all, seeing how a police station is usually full of people who, to her, must look like nightmares. Bahorel is already with them, and if it weren't for the blood on his clothes, he could be mistaken for another friend simply there to bring Enjolras home. Judging from the wide grin, even his tooth has re-grown by now. 

Valjean's face suddenly goes dark, and for a moment Enjolras is worried that something terrible has happened that he doesn't know about yet. But then, he remembers that Javert is walking right behind him. 

“Javert.”

“Valjean.”

“If there isn't anything more, I'd like to take the boy along, now.”

“Go ahead.” Javert waves a hand dismissively. “But maybe you should talk to him about how certain laws are there to protect him. And that he shouldn't push against doors if he doesn't know what's behind them.”

Valjean doesn't answer, but simply turns around to leave. 

“You know,” Bahorel whispers to Enjolras as they trail behind, “some day I'm going to make M. Valjean drunk and find out exactly what the story is with those two.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Cosette, you've got to come to class with me.” Courfeyrac turns his best puppy dog look on her, but that only makes her more suspicious.

“Why? Am I going to be roped into one of your schemes again? Or is this another attempt at hooking me up with some boy?”

Courfeyrac has to laugh in spite of himself: “Well, it is about a boy, yes.” Then, his expression grows serious, and that does get her attention. Courfeyrac lowers his voice: “I think I've found out why I've been having these strange blackouts. But I need someone else to either confirm or shoot down my theory. I'd ask Enjolras, but I need someone with active powers.”

Cosette moves a little closer, then bites her lower lip. “And you think it's a person?” She has unconsciously lowered her voice to mirror Courfeyrac's. “If you're right...”

“Now let's not jump to conclusions here,” Courfeyrac says, holding up his hands. “Could very well be that you don't see anything unusual. I mean, it's perfectly possible that he just blocks empaths.”

Cosette nods: “Let's find out.”

–

They are standing close to a wall in the hallway leading to the lecture rooms, letting the throngs of people flow around them. Cosette is alternating between watching the people and letting her gaze wander through the window, taking in the trees, their branches swaying slightly in the wind. 

“Are you sure he's going to be here, your mystery man?”

Courfeyrac nods: “He's in some of my classes, and he's usually early. He'll be here.” 

He leans his head back, closing his eyes for a moment. He likes crowds like these. Lots of different emotions, most of them quiet and unintrusive, with the occasional spike if someone passes by closely. Now, focused crowds, crowds with a purpose...

Courfeyrac opens his eyes again, not a minute too soon: “There he is.”

He points at a somewhat lank young man with short, reddish-brown hair and a backpack slung over his shoulder who is drifting along with the crowd, seemingly lost in thought, and feels Cosette tense. 

“It's the guy I saw in the club a few days ago,” she says. Then, her voice drops into an astonished whisper, as if she can't believe what she is seeing: “I thought I was just a bit drunk, but...” Here, she turns towards Courfeyrac and instinctively takes his hand, her blue eyes boring into his: “Courfeyrac, I can't see him. He looks like a photograph!”

The young man seems to have noticed Cosette staring at him, because he turns his head and gives her a smile before passing on. 

Courfeyrac exhales: “I guess we found one.”

–

“A Black Hole? And you're sure?” Combeferre is leaning forward far enough that for a moment, Courfeyrac worries that he will fall off the couch, his eyes bright with excitement. 

Cosette and Courfeyrac nod almost in sync. 

“Wow.” Combeferre runs a hand through his hair, still grinning. “Do you know what this means?”

Enjolras, who so far hasn't said a word, listening intently and leaning back into the cushions, finally speaks up: “It means the poor guy could be on top of the government's watch list, if he isn't already.” He has his arms crossed in front of his chest, a slight frown painted on his face.

“Well, I was going to say it means that the evolution of our kind is going quicker than previously thought, since we now have proof of a countermeasure emerging, but you do have a point there,” Combeferre says with a nod towards Enjolras. 

“Think about it,” Enjolras goes on. “Suddenly, there's someone who is immune to every power out there.”

“We can't be sure about that yet,” Combeferre interjects. “I mean, both Courfeyrac and Cosette have mental powers. Maybe physical ones still work on him, since they work on a slightly different basis.”

Cosette starts to laugh, which draws all eyes on her. “Sorry,” she giggles, shaking her head, “but I just had this idea of telling father he's my boyfriend and we're going to elope, and then just measuring the distance the poor boy gets thrown.”

“Maybe we should do that. Test Combeferre's theory,” Courfeyrac grins, earning himself a pillow to the side of his face. He grabs the pillow and shoves it behind his back, his expression serious again: “But anyway, someone needs to talk with him, I think.” 

The others nod. 

“I'll see if I can chat him up tomorrow after class. Find out more about our mysterious black hole.” 

–

Starting a conversation with the freckle-faced young man is easier than Courfeyrac had imagined. After some chitchat about classes, he agrees to join Courfeyrac for a coffee, and five minutes into their conversation, Courfeyrac already knows that Marius is new in town and in search of friends. Well, that is something Courfeyrac can provide. Regardless of how overwhelming the company of others can be to him, Courfeyrac has always considered himself a people person at heart, and hanging out with Marius is extremely relaxing, not just because of the fact that he is like an island of silence in a sea of noise. No, on top of that, Marius is of a friendly nature, even if he's a bit awkward and naïve. Which is probably due to his sheltered upbringing, another fact Courfeyrac finds out while talking to him. 

Courfeyrac is halfway through his second latte when he decides to broach the subject of their shared mutanthood: “Why don't you come meet my friends tomorrow? They're a friendly bunch, and it's always good to know a few fellow mutants around a new neighborhood.”

Marius blinks at him, frowning slightly: “But I'm not a mutant.”

Now, Courfeyrac has anticipated a few ways this could go, but this one wasn't among them. In fact, it throws him off so much that he has to take a few quick gulps of his coffee to get his brain back on track. He decides to take it as a badly presented joke, and grins at Marius: “Sure you aren't.”

“No, really. I'm sorry if I gave that impression, through I frankly can't think of how, but I'm... normal.”

_He doesn't know?_ Courfeyrac is aware that he is probably gaping at Marius as if the other man had just grown a second head, but how can he not know? 

Sheltered upbringing. Of course. There were those parents who thought it best to hide their kid's abilities from everyone as long as possible, including the child itself. And with a power like the one Marius had, that would not be hard to accomplish. 

For a moment, Courfeyrac debates with himself if he should just leave Marius ignorant of what he really is. After all, this is one piece of information that could turn the poor guy's life upside down. Then again, if he has noticed, someone else is bound to do the same, sooner or later. And that someone might not be so nice.

Courfeyrac leans forward a bit and bites his lip. “I'm sorry to have to break it to you, Marius,” he says, his voice gentle and careful, “but you're not. You're a mutant. I know this because I'm one, too.” Courfeyrac gestures around the room: “I'm an empath. I can feel every emotion around us, except for yours. You're like... a black hole in a sea of stars.”

For a while, Marius just stares at him, a succession of different emotions crossing his face. Confusion, fear, suspicion, even anger, but the one that sticks is disbelief: “No. You're wrong.”

“Believe me, part of me wishes that I were wrong. I know this is probably the worst punch in the gut I could've given you.” Courfeyrac sighs, and rubs his neck: “But I'm not.” He lays both of his hands on the table: “And I can prove it to you. Just... come and meet my friends.” 

Marius sits in his chair, blinking, staring down at his hands. Then, he rises abruptly: “I'm sorry. I have to go.” With that, he turns around and almost flees out of the cafe. 

“Guess I'm going to have to pick up his tab, then, too,” Courfeyrac mutters to himself. He probably should have brought Combeferre in for this. A little bit of calm... oh, right, no, that wouldn't have worked, either. Courfeyrac sighs and walks up to the barista to pay both of their tabs. He can't help feeling like a complete failure. 

At around eight in the evening, Courfeyrac's phone gives a beep.   
_From: Marius Pontmercy  
When should I be there tomorrow?_


	4. Chapter 4

Courfeyrac is waiting for Marius outside the door of the café. Marius didn't ask him to, but it doesn't need special empathy to imagine how nervous the poor guy must be. No need to make it worse by letting him walk into a room full of strangers of the strange kind all on his own. 

“Hey,” Courfeyrac calls out, waving his hand when he sees Marius turn around the corner. “I'm glad you decided to come after all.” He smiles, trying to make Marius feel a little less nervous, because by the looks of it, the poor man is one step away from turning around and fleeing the scene.

“I couldn't stop thinking about what you told me yesterday,” Marius says, running a hand through his short hair, which makes it stick up in what Courfeyrac thinks is a rather adorable manner. Marius takes a deep breath, stuffing his hands inside his pockets: “And well, it does make sense. I just... I never thought about it much, you know?”

Courfeyrac just nods. It's always easier not to think about it: “Come on, let's go meet the others.” 

He leads the way upstairs to the small room that serves as their refuge, the room already halfway to crowded with people. Some of them are sitting at the tables, others standing around in little groups of three or four. The small table right next to the stairway is, as usual, being occupied by Grantaire, who raises his hand in salute.

“What happened?” Courfeyrac asks, pointing at Grantaire's other arm, which is currently hanging in a sling winding around the other man's neck. 

Grantaire gives the new face a short, skeptical look, and then apparently decides that since he's with Courfeyrac, it's probably all right that Marius is here. 

“You know how it goes,” Grantaire says, waving the hand of his uninjured arm as if chasing away a fly, “monkey see, monkey do, monkey dislocate shoulder.” He grins: “You'd have thought that by now I'd have caught up with the fact that just because I can copy every cool move I see doesn't mean that I actually should. Especially not when I'm drunk.”

“You're incorrigible,” Courfeyrac says, shaking his head fondly. 

Grantaire gives him a wink, then turns and raises his glass towards Marius: “And what brings you here?”

“...Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac tries hard not to burst into laughter, which causes a coughing fit, which in turn causes Marius to give him a worried look. Straightening up, Courfeyrac gasps for air, then turns towards Grantaire again: “Grantaire, this is Marius. Marius, Grantaire.”

“So, what can you do, Marius who was brought here by Courfeyrac?” Grantaire seems to take quite some amusement out of trying to fluster Marius as much as possible. Which, Courfeyrac has to admit, is quite easy.

“Nothing,” comes Marius' slightly confused answer.

“And if you want to know more about it, Grantaire, you'll have to come along. Us two cuties have to say hello to Enjolras and Combeferre,” Courfyrac cuts in before Grantaire can even open his mouth. 

Grantaire shakes his head: “No thank you. I'm not in the mood to partake of the radiance of our Holy Angel of the Revolution today.”

Courfeyrac drags Marius off, who blinks at him in confusion, his gaze darting back to Grantaire. “Holy Angel of the Revolution?”

“We've all got our ways to combat Enjolras' effects. Grantaire's is sarcasm.” Courfeyrac lowers his voice conspiratorially and chuckles: “If you ask me, it doesn't seem to have much of an effect, though.”

“This is all so confusing...”

“You'll get used to it.” 

By now, they have crossed the room to where Enjolras and Combeferre are sitting, together with Bahorel and Jehan. Enjolras is tapping the surface of the table with his forefinger, his brow furrowed, listening to Jehan. Courfeyrac can feel the muscles in his shoulders tense, and he breathes in deeply, trying to center in on his own feelings: “Hey guys.”

Once he has everyone's attention, Courfeyrac quickly does the introductions before pulling in two chairs for Marius and him.

“So you're the mysterious black hole,” Bahorel says, giving Marius a once-over. 

“Black hole?”

Combeferre gives Marius a reassuring smile: “It's just jargon for someone like you. Someone who isn't affected by powers.” His smile turns into an almost apologetic grin: “Like every subculture out there, us mutants have our own lingo. You'll get used to it.”

Marius presses his lips together, making it quite obvious that he's still skeptical of that. “So, um, if I understood Courfeyrac right, I kind of switch your powers off?”

Courfeyrac shakes his head: “No, no. We still have our powers. I can still feel everyone's emotions, I just can't feel yours. And Cosette, well...” Here, Courfeyrac trails off. How the hell is he supposed to explain Cosette's power?

Luckily, Marius gives him a bit more time by asking: “Cosette? Who's that?”

“Over there, at the table in the corner.” Courfeyrac turns around halfway and gives Cosette a little wave. Cosette waves back and, Courfeyrac can't help but notice, Marius' smile gains a somewhat shy and dorky edge. 

Combeferre, ever the good friend, cuts in before Marius can ask more about Cosette: “Also, we're not one hundred percent sure that you are immune to every power there is. Could be that there are some physical powers that still work on you. Depending on the mechanism.” Here, Combeferre pauses for a minute, looking off into space for a moment while he contemplates. “For example, I could imagine that Joly's power still works on you.” His eyes focus on Marius again: “Say, you're not perhaps feeling a bit sick or anything?”

Marius pulls back a bit: “N-no. Why?”

Combeferre shrugs: “We could have tested it if you had.”

“Combeferre here is our resident scientist,” Courfeyrac chuckles. “He's always up to some kind of experiment.”

“Well, we could always have Jehan hug him,” Bahorel throws in, grinning. 

“Let's not.” 

The tone of Jehan's voice almost makes Courfeyrac's smile falter, and Bahorel's vanishes completely. Courfeyrac is glad when Bahorel reaches over for Jehan's hand and Jehan wraps his fingers around the other man's, breaking the short but almost painful spike of tension that had arisen between them. He almost doesn't notice that Marius scoots a little closer to him, keeping his eyes on Jehan as though the other had sprouted black wings and little devil's horns. 

Jehan, on the other hand, notices right away and puts on a gentle smile: “Don't worry. I'm perfectly harmless, as long as you don't try to snuggle with me or anything like that.”

Marius is still fidgeting, seeming not quite convinced by Jehan's words: “Which I shouldn't do because...?”

“How do I put this?” Jehan runs a hand through his hair, tilting his head slightly, thinking of the best strategy to explain what exactly he is to Marius without making the poor boy run in terror. Sadly, most people seem to fixate on the dark aspects of his powers. “You could say that I'm life and death incarnate. I can make dead things come to life again, and I can take life away from that which still possess it. Plants, animals... humans.”

“And they just let you walk around like that?”

Courfeyrac winces visibly. Well done, Marius. One foot inserted into his mouth, the other stepping right on Enjolras' trigger.

Who rises to the bait like a kraken from the depths of the ocean: “Well, if the current government has its way, not for much longer any more.” So far, Enjolras has listened to his friends talk, sitting back and only giving the occasional nod, but now he leans forward, he elbows resting on the table, eyes lighting up with fire: “If registration is pushed through, it's only one small step towards “pre-emptive” use of the public safety paragraph. So far, they can only detain a mutant if said person has actually proven to be a threat to public safety, but I wouldn't count on that holding for too long.” Enjolras frowns, then shakes his head. 

Marius is quiet for a moment before looking first at Enjolras, then at Jehan apologetically: “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that you should be locked away. Really, I didn't.”

“It's already forgiven,” Jehan says with a smile. “A lot of people react like that when they find out what I can do. And not just usuals. Other mutants are scared of me, too. And I don't blame them. Not much, anyway. Having power over life and death like that... that's something that's usually reserved for mythical beings. Not for twenty-something literature students.” Jehan laughs, and takes a sip from his glass before continuing in a quiet voice: “It scares me, too.”

“You know, I'm wondering now... why have I never heard of you? I mean, dead people being brought back to life, that should make the news, even if a lot of other things don't any more.” 

Jehan looks pained, rubbing his nose and looking over at Bahorel as if in a silent plea for help. This question always comes up, and it's never easy to answer. 

“See,” he starts up, biting his lower lip, “there's one flaw in the whole thing. The bringing people back to life part. I can give them life, but I can't reverse what killed them. It's not like in the movies, where bullet wounds heal and shirts go magically clean and whole again. So most of the time, if I brought someone back to life, it would only be to have them die again, because whatever killed them is still there. And that...” he inhales, then exhales with a sigh, “it's cruelty. It's like holding a bank note in front of a beggar's face and then setting it on fire. The most horrible joke in the history of creation.”

Courfeyrac swallows hard. He's just one person in a room of many, but when it comes to this, Jehan's pain is as sharp as a knife, and it cuts right into his heart. Good thing Bahorel is here, who knows just how to diffuse it.

“Works amazing on plants, though,” Bahorel cuts in, grinning, and gives Jehan's hand a little squeeze. “No matter how many times I kill the poor things through sheer neglect, he always makes them go green again.”

Jehan leans over to give Bahorel a peck on the cheek, and that seems to be the moment where it hits Marius: “Wait, wait. You said that if you touch something that's alive, it will die. But he's still alive!” 

“My good looks grant me immunity,” Bahorel says with a laugh. “Well, that and my self-healing. Don't ask me why, that's a question for the good doctor over there,” Bahorel nods in the direction of Combeferre, “but really, all I need to know is that it works.”

Marius is quiet for a moment and lets his gaze wander around the room. Courfeyrac feels a bit sorry for him. Over the course of a few days, the poor boy's whole world has changed. At the beginning of the week, he probably thought about himself as just a normal guy, and now he's sitting in a room full of people who possess strange and in some cases understandably frightening powers. It makes Courfeyrac want to reach over and take his hand, pet it and tell him it's going to be all right, because it will be. 

“So is everyone here a mutant?”

“Not everyone, no,” Courfeyrac says, “there are a couple of usuals who support our cause. Most of them are friends, family or loved ones of someone with powers. People who want to help.” At Marius' somewhat quizzical look, Courfeyrac goes on: “See, we're not just here to socialize. Although that's also a big part of it. It's nice having a place where people get you without you having to explain too much. Everyone's powers are different, yes, but beyond that, we share the same experiences. The goal of our group is to bring about change in laws and social attitudes so that those experiences one day don't include things like harassment, prejudice and the curtailment of basic human rights any more.”

Once again, Marius falls silent. By the way he is rubbing his nose and clenching his jaw, it's obvious that he's chewing on the information he's gotten so far. The, he takes a deep breath and looks up, focusing on Courfeyrac, his voice carrying an apologetic tone: „I'm sorry... I mean, you're all very nice and such, but... I don't want to get involved in all of this. Mutant politics.“ He gets up from his seat: „I'm sorry.“ He throws Courfeyrac one last, apologetic look, then turns around, towards the stairs and the exit.

„Marius.“

Enjolras' voice isn't loud, but it still carries over all the other conversations, and stops Marius in his tracks.

„Have you ever asked yourself why no one ever told you what you are? Why your parents shut you away from the world and kept you ignorant of your own nature and gifts?“

Marius doesn't turn around as he answers: „My grandfather. I live with my grandfather. My parents died when I was very young.“

„The point still stands, Marius.“ Enjolras' tone is almost gentle, but it still carries a note of a challenge. He rises from his chair, taking a step towards Marius, but not stepping in his way or line of sight. „Why was this kept from you? Out of fear? Or shame?“

Marius' shoulders stiffen, but there is a slight waver in his voice: „I'm sure he just wanted to protect me.“

“I'm sure he did. We all want to protect those we love. But it shouldn't have to come at the price of being kept in the dark about who you are, or of being kept away from the world. Don't you think?”

Marius fidgets, torn between continuing his path to the stairs and outside, and turning back towards the table where the others are sitting. 

In the end, he turns around: “But how do we change it?”

Courfeyrac smiles and pats the empty chair next to him: “Well, we have a few ideas for that.”


	5. Chapter 5

She has never liked this arrangement. Actually, no, she hates it. Hates being a snitch, a traitor. But what choice does she have? None. It's either this or being locked up, and who's going to take care of her sister and brother then? 

Standing in front of the barrier that separates the people from the law, Eponine gives a loud cough and pokes the policewoman in the arm, just for good measure.

The woman startles, but only a bit. Eponine knows her, she's used to this special kind of jump scare.

“I'm here to see Inspector Javert.”

“Thought so.” The woman opens the partition and waves Eponine through: “He's in his office. You know the way.”

“Yeah.”

Eponine sighs and walks down the now familiar hallway. Somehow, this time it's particularly bad. The boy seemed nice. Naive as hell, but nice, and she hates having to rat him out. But she's sure that Javert will pay well for this one, and maybe she won't have to work for people who are even worse than him for a few weeks.

She knocks on the door, and a few minutes later, she hears Javert's voice through the door: “Come in.”

Eponine opens the door and shuffles inside, and before she can even make a noise Javert smiles and says: “Hello Eponine.”

For a moment she considers staying invisible. Just don't make a noise and walk out again, but that would be rude, and being rude won't help her. Besides, it's not as if Javert can't see the trail of whatever it is that he sees stretching from the corridor into his office. For a moment, Eponine wonders what exactly it is that he sees. If he sees people at all, or just... glowing blobs of whatever. It could explain some things about him.

“I got something for you.”

Javert gestures to a chair in front of his scarily organized desk: “Sit down. What is it?”

Javert isn't one for small talk, and Eponine appreciates that. 

“I snuck into a meeting of the Amis today. Saw something very interesting,” Eponine says, figuring that adding a bit of suspense might increase the value of her information.

“And that would be?” Javert says, raising an eyebrow at her. He's not one for games, either.

“There's a new guy there. Name of Marius. Apparently, powers don't work on him.” She lets that sink in before adding: “Well, mental ones at least. No idea about physical.”

Now she has Javert's full attention. He sits up straighter, eyes narrowing at her: “And you're sure about that?”

Eponine nods: “I'm sure. Well, okay, they are, but I'll take their word for it.” She smirks: “Apparently, this guy didn't even know he was a mutant until Courfeyrac told him. That's a damn sheltered life, if you ask me.”

Javert leans back in his chair, one of his fingers tapping the surface of the desk while he ponders this bit of information. 

“So, how much?” Eponine cuts into his thoughts. 

“Do you know his last name?”

“No.” Before Javert can say anything, she goes on: “But I can find out.”

“Do that,” Javert nods, “and once you've got that, I'll double your usual.”

“I need something now.” Her tone isn't pleading or meek, but rather like an ultimatum. She'll be damned if she pleads for anything with that man.

“All right. You get the usual now, and the same again once you have his last name. Also,” Javert goes on, “there's probably a few more assignments I might send you on regarding that young man.”

Eponine nods. Say what you want about Javert, for someone who sells out his own kind, he's rather fair. Which is more than she can say about herself, really, but she's always known that she's not really a pillar of society, not since that first time her deadbeat father sent her out to steal stuff. She had been five at that time, and she's gotten a lot better since then. Not enough to escape Javert, though.

Javert gets up and leaves her alone in his office. Boy, the things she could nab right now, but he knows that she won't because he's got her cornered good and well. After a while, he returns and hands her an envelope full of money. She doesn't bother counting it. 

“I'll be back when I've got his full name. See ya.”

With that, Eponine leaves, weaving around the other policeman that walk down the corridor and into the station. No reason to attract their attention. When she steps out onto the street again, there's an acrid feeling in her stomach, but she attributes that to hunger. She can't afford a conscience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than usual, but I thought I'd let people know that this story isn't dead, I'm just slow with the updates.


End file.
